Defusing a time bomb
by Miss Hiraya
Summary: This is a story of how the Avengers came to be a dysfunctional family from being a ticking bomb. Inspired by Natasha Romanoff's line, "Are you sure he's going to be okay? Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together." On AoU :3 Features Clint/Laura and the rest of the Avengers.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary:_

 _In which Clint Barton is an ex-mercenary, ex-military, world's greatest marksman, SHIELD's best sniper and one of the two legendary assassins on pay check, one of the sharpest men Nick Fury knows, and recently the Alien god's minion until he got a really hard punch to the head (thank you, Nat)._

 _All of the above mentioned are common knowledge by now. Only Laura knows about his thing for fixing stuff like the broken rocking chair by the porch and renovating the various rooms in their house for his pet projects. Well, her and Fury. But really, no parental instinct and sniper-patience would probably be enough to re-assemble what is best described as "chemical mixture that makes chaos… A time-bomb" that is the Avengers and make it work._

 _This is a story of how the Avengers came to be a dysfunctional family from being a ticking bomb._

 _Inspired by Natasha Romanoff's line, "Are you sure he's going to be okay? Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together." On AoU :3_

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing

 **Warnings:** Swearing

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Notes:

Set between the first and second movie. Mostly tries to be canon. May be a one-shot. I dunno. Depending on the reactions. And I really need a beta *lies hopelessly on the floor

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It took months but felt like forever: months of agonizing mind-prying and psychological torture that came with having your brain controlled by some lunatic of a god, of dealing with New York in shambles and the masses hounding on the mysterious group of superheroes who just saved the world, of the recurring nightmares of memories painted in a sickening blue and bloody red, of trying not to think of the names soaking his ledger in crimson and how the hate, doubt, and judgment from other people kept tearing at the cracks of his shield. Of months trying to fix himself if not for his own, but for the few people who remained as his anchor.

It took months but it sure felt like forever. But now, finally he's cleared from all the psychological and threat assessments SHIELD and the Council could think of (some that may have involve a lot of loyalty tests that made him want to walk away forever in resignation- but if he does then Loki, that bastard, and all his enemies will be proven right and he is a stubborn asshole to not let that happen so easily). New York has quickly rebuilt itself as fast as it could, too, so that's two out of his long list to not worry about anymore; Clint was sure that was a good start.

It's a good start as any when he slipped inside the Director's office and found Nick Fury in his usual scowl. The one-eyed director took a glance to the archer. Like ingrained instinct though, Clint noticed how the older man's features seemed to bleed out a bit of tension from his imposing frame. From experience, that was either a really good sign or extreme bad luck. Usually it leaned on the 'this looks bad for me' side.

"Agent Barton. Good to see you back." Fury gave the slightest of smiles that's both predatory and a bit of relieving. The man was hard to read but years of working under him made a good progress. Clint returned the gesture and replied, "Thank you, sir."

Fury made a motion with his hand and immediately Clint sat himself on the chair directly across the director. The older man twined his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk. "How are you holding up?"

"Well," he snorted, the humor working more as a deflection, "I'm pretty holding up well considering I just had my mind fucked by an alien god."

Fury's one good eye twitched, "Glad to hear your old self is coming around, too, Barton."

Clint shrugged. The light conversation was over.

The tension that once bled out from the director was now back in full force and Clint mentally checked that as a part of 'this is going to be bad' list of signs. However, the other man seemed holding back something as he announced his agent's terms for the two-month leave. A paid leave, no trackers, no communications with work, just vacation _I'll deal with the stubborn rich asses at the Council, for the moment you are under my orders and they don't get to say something about it_. After that, he'd get his ass back to HQ and report. Hopefully, there won't be any world-scale dominations happening again during the two months so until then, he could make use of the down time to just fly away for a bit. Clint knew Fury was already stretching the time period for his leave, having the higher-ups still not convinced that he wasn't a threat anymore. He knew the director was doing the best that he could in his position since the man himself proved that he wasn't going to take shit from the same people who ordered a nuke on Manhattan. It had been months of grappling with them, too. But since Barton had already done what he could and that politics wasn't really his type of game, he let Fury handle it.

Fury was a stubborn mule, too. He won't admit it out loud, but he really doesn't want one of his best agents thrown aside for a mistake not his own.

Clint knew he owed the senior agent. Perhaps for all the differences Fury, Natasha, himself, and... and Coulson, and himself had, they shared a common trait that valued the meaning of favors and how they were returned. He nodded, knowing unnecessary words were not Fury's favourite. It was quiet for a long time. Clint was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"What do you think of the Avengers Initiative, Barton?" The director's voice suddenly cut through the thick silence. To say that he's surprised would be a contrast to his persona, so Clint collected himself immediately and answered.

"The Initiative is a good strategic defense, sir." Fury's eyebrow arched, clearly not the answer he was looking for. "It's highly effective acting on world-scale domination threats despite having short notice and the members' clashing differences. But I don't think that kind of teamwork would happen again anytime soon except if another alien is to invade New York again. These guys are like puzzle pieces badly fit together, sir. It's going to be their weakness." Clint didn't mention how he pointed that out when Loki asked while still under the thrall of the mischief god. He figured the director already knew the implication behind the words. The attack on the Helicarrier (led by himself- _goddamnit not now_ ) was enough of a proof.

Fury's lone eye bore straight to Clint's soul, intense and unreadable. He nodded, which made the archer want to jump out of his skin because he really didn't know what was coming, but it's giving him the bad vibe already.

"You have other things to say other than kicking my ass off this carrier?" The bluntness directed to the senior agent required guts to say the least but it wasn't really a surprise coming from the sniper who made it a point to give Fury a headache at least twice a month for his attitude.

Fury leaned in, eye gleaming in some kind of a sharp light that made lesser men quiver, but then sighed and for a moment he looked years older than he should be. "When you're done rearranging your nest, Barton, I'd like to offer you a new mission. More like I'd like to ask favor. I want you to make the team work the way it should be."

Clint opened his lips, gaping and then shutting it a few beats later. There's just too many mistakes in those choice words, okay. What? First of all, why? Why him?

"In case you forgot, sir. I'm the last person they should trust. I don't care if we made it work the first time, but second's hardly a charm, sir. And anyway, why can't you just have Natasha or Hill whip them to shape anyway? Or better yet, you order them to get them working together." Coulson would be the perfect choice for this. He knew how to handle this, he knew a lot of ways to do this stuff. Coulson knew how to catch stark's attention, he knew more about the thunder god, he had the patience for Banner and his alter-ego, and he would have the chance to fanboy over Captain America as a plus. He could handle Natasha. He could make things actually work his way. It's part of the dangerous charisma the man possessed beneath the unassuming pencil-pusher demeanor. Clint is everything but, except being able to handle Natasha as his partner and best friend _._

(He's also dead. In that attack, which he le- _Not the time!)_

Fury levelled the lower ranking agent with a glare that could melt an iceberg. "I believe you are perfect for his, in fact. They knew you and worked well with you. You saved the world together. I think they will give that a little credit in trusting you."

"This isn't in my skillset." Or job description.

"This is in your talent, Barton. Fixing things, making them work." The director answered with a deadpan.

"You make it sound like a few screw-fittings would solve the problem." Clint threw back, crossing his arms. Now he was getting childish, but Fury wasn't sounding reasonable either.

"It doesn't change the fact that you can see the problem clearly, and I know you can do something about it." Fury relented. "I'm just saying you think about it, Barton. Two months is a long time to think. Maybe I'll pray you get hit with a haystack or something to change your mind. But don't say no right now."

Clint did huff at the stubbornness that was his superior. But this wasn't right. He shouldn't be given this kind of mission even though the psychs cleared him for missions already. It's too far from his job description. This idea is insane. He could fail and ruin the Initiative or not help at all. "This isn't another test, is it?"

At that, Fury seemed to clench his jaw. He's pissed the director somehow. That's never a good sign. He's ready for a bitching when the other man's voice interrupted his spiralling thoughts. "No, this is me asking you a favor. For the success of this Initiative. For giving this green Earth a chance when another time comes again. This is me asking one of the remaining people I trust with a vital mission."

Clint tried not to let the words garble inside his head, tried not to read between the lines that implied something at the word _remaining_ (Coulson is dead. Nick Fury's other eye is not coming back…) and tried to focus on the other word, _trust._

These past months, trust was a word he barely recognized anymore. But this man right here spoke it like he meant it. Fury rarely trusted anyone but he's also a manipulative bastard. Yet to see such sincerity and firmness in the Director's otherwise stern expression was something of a rarity.

Clint saw that. He wasn't Hawkeye without gifted eyes. His eyesight did not limit to amazing distances but he was also brought up with a skill only learned when faced with a tragic childhood and a series of betrayals.

It took a struggle to finally nod and get the words out of his mouth. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

Oh, god. He needs Laura. He needs his kids. He needs to come home.

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 **Notes:** Continue? or nah? comments? suggestions? anything? chat you guys in the comments!


	2. Chapter 2: Herding evil chickens

I love you guys. The bros in the review section, you're awesome.

 _Shout out to **deb, emmau, GalliumKnight, Jesuslovesmarina, NCISJunkie14**!_

To the bro's following this story and faved it, you have a good day you wonderful people. And you, yes you. You're amazing. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Thank you for reading! see you in the reviews?

Note(s): I have to get this part done because, you know, I can't just have Clint go into another /mission/ without explaining where his strength came from. Of course it's from Mamahawk and the hawkbabies. :)

Be warned, there be angst and fluff in the mix.

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 **Chapter 2**

Laura always knew when his husband came home.

It's a bit too early in the morning, considering it's an hour after midnight. But the moment the side of the bed dipped without a sound, Laura knew her other half had come home. She expected the pair of arms around her waist, tugging her to a familiar cage of warmth that is made of hard muscles and a soft, gentle heart. She expected the breath hovering at the back of her neck, the soft feeling of lips meeting skin the next, and the snuggling coming from the grown man behind her. She always pegged Clint to be a cuddler no matter how much he protested and the thought always made her smile.

"Hey, sweetheart." Laura laced her fingers with her husband's, feeling the calluses there. She brought one of his knuckles to press her lips against them, causing a soft sigh from behind. She could sense the tension running through his body not in the way his hands shake- because his hands never shake- but through the corded muscles that wrapped her. No words were exchanged then, the silence of their home their only company, but it's enough to drain Clint of his months-endured tension. Later, when the sun's up Clint would talk of New York and the kids would help bring the pieces of their father to whole. Later, when the kids aren't, looking he'd cry his heart out and she would shield him from the whole world by tucking him close to her heart. But Clint was home now, and he deserved all the rest he could when he's too tired to even keep his eyes open.

Laura turned to face the other slowly. "Sleep, hon. I got you." She said, before planting a tender kiss to his trembling lips. She wrapped him securely in her hold and waited patiently until Clint's breaths evened as he burrowed deep in her chest, his hold not loosening. After a while he finally slept with her fingers threading on his hair, grounding and reminding him of safety. Laura's heart ached when she now catalogued her husband's form; worn too thin for her own liking. She then made sure by the end of the month, Clint would be as healthy as he ever was, and didn't care if she'd have to cook enough for an army.

Morning came too fast, but Laura always woke with the sun. She didn't wake her husband, but she waited for the childish footsteps coming to the door. The kids didn't disappoint as few minutes later she could hear them and then the door opened with a pair of heads peeking through.

Clint always knew his kids coming from a mile away.

Point in evidence, the kids didn't even bother hide their excitement that they jumped on the bed and screamed, "Daaaaaaad!" only to be cut off in a squeal of shock when their father's arms caught them by the waist and tucked them at the space where Laura shifted just enough for a four and six year old to fit in. The household vibrated with a pair of giggles and Laura's fond laugh. Clint himself gave up pretending to sleep and grinned to the joyous sound surrounding him. He gave Cooper and Lila a tight hug and an affectionate kiss on the forehead. Laura kissed the three of them with an indulging smile before announcing breakfast that had the rest of them scrambling to the kitchen, squeals following them.

Cooper and Lila were inseparable from their Dad, not even objecting to bath and in their own way sought attention that Clint was too happy to shower them with. It's not much as a distraction as much as it was a calm to the storm in his eyes. The children were too young to know the horrors that ate at their father's soul, but they always did an astounding job filling the holes and gaps that Clint was close to tears a few times when they sat on his lap and demanded to be told a story. Somehow it turned into a game of hide-and-seek and Laura chose not to question how she ended up hiding in one of their walk-in closets while Clint bounced around the house. Lila was too easy to find considering she was giggling the whole time.

Afternoon saw a kitchen smothered in flour and chocolate syrup and eggs. Clint hadn't stopped grinning, his whole body shaking in laughter. Laura couldn't be bothered with the devastating state of their kitchen, or the mess in the living room. Years ago, it was only her that brought that kind of careless laughter in him. But now she wasn't alone and she couldn't be prouder of the family she and Clint made.

It took a while to get the children to sleep. Instead of Clint reading them a story from one of the children's books, the children had a brilliant idea that _Mom and Dad should read a story together! The one where the prince rescues the princess!_ And how could either of deny them that when they were both saps and especially doting on their children? Funny thing was, when they finished reading the story and the kids were now sound asleep in their room, Clint insisted it was the princess who saved the prince. The way he spoke it in her ear did not fail to make her heart stutter.

They fell into the routine of cleaning after the mess they've made with only the silence of the night to accompany them. They made little noise as much as possible, with Laura washing the dishes and Clint getting things in order. Efficient as ever, Clint got his part done and now waited for his wife to hand him the dishes to dry.

The next day, Clint buzzed around the farm with Cooper in tow while Laura braided her daughter's blonde hair and the lemonade and biscuits sat on the table. Later, they chased the chickens back to their cages and played in the mud when rain came an hour before sunset. Laura watched Clint's look while he watched the children go around the puddles. It's a look she wanted to protect, and if she could, would keep on her husband's face forever.

"Admiring the view?" Clint, smirking goofily, said while glancing sideways to her. Laura liked to wipe that (hot) smug look on him, too. So she did, with a kiss to his lips that got the other responding in a heartbeat.

Some days, they built pillow forts and watched a marathon of Disney films. Some nights, they grilled barbecue and camped outside just to see the stars. They fell into a domestic routine seamlessly that if Laura hadn't known better, she would've been convinced that her husband came out fine after New York. But no.

Clint only breaks when it's just him and Laura in their bedroom. That night wasn't different. Laura held her husband and rubbed circles on his back, on his hair, and on every inch of bared skin that trembled with each heaving sob. He's painfully quiet compared to the silence of their home but that's just because he buried his sounds in between Laura's breasts. Laura let him without complaint, and in return she hummed to wordless lullabies until Clint cried himself to sleep. To think that Clint broke down this much sent warning bells to Laura, and from that she knew how awful it had been in those months with not even a phone call was allowed by SHIELD. But all she could do now was listen to how her husband's voice crack and pause for far too long before gathering strength to whisper the rest of the story. Of the Tesseract (he laughed bitterly at the thought of how his job just got weirder on a galactic level), the portal, _Loki_ , Germany, and Phil.

"I tried, Lau… God, I tried so hard." He fought as much as he could as mortal against a god. He fought to keep the alien god out of his mind. He fought with tooth and nail to keep the blue tendrils from prying his brain open where he kept Laura and the kids in memory. Oh god did he try. But he almost killed Fury and Maria. And Phil was no longer going to be there to kick the guilt out of him. He's dead as well as the people who died on the Helicarrier.

At the end of it all, Laura had to bite her lips at the broken pieces that made up her husband. She could almost smell the blood that Clint could see in himself when he looked in the mirror, but most of all she could see how it reminded him of his handler, his friend. But she knew. She knew deep in her bones just how much the man in front of him had tried and fought a battle alone long before New York started. This man clawed his way from a life living in dark alleys with only one window of opportunity; and was tempted again and again to be on the dark side but still hoped to be someone _good._ Laura knew Clint years before SHIELD that she personally knew how hard that was. Therefore she knew without an inch of doubt that Clint fought hard and the fault wasn't on him because he could only do so much against magic, aliens, let alone _alien gods._ "You did all you could, Clint. I know you did. I know Phil knew you did." Laura took her husband's hands and pressed her lips there, ignoring the way Clint visibly flinched, because these hands full of blood were the same hands that saved her thrice, held her heart with care, held their children with utmost gentleness and warmth, and _saved the world_.

Clint would not believe it, but Laura's stubborn nature would eventually convince him that this wasn't on him and that he is still _good._ She should know; she wouldn't have married him, nor would Phil give him a chance, and Fury wouldn't have allowed him to come back here without a bullet to his head if he didn't deserve it.

When a scream tore them both from sleep the next night, Laura did not expect a bunch of blonde and dark chocolate hair to peek into their bedroom.

"Mom?" Lila was holding her favourite stuffed dog named Lucky, and Cooper was dragging with him his blue blanket. "Dad, are you okay?" They scrambled towards their parents, seeing their Mom hugging Dad who's crying.

Clint visibly froze up to the core. Words escaped as guilt tore through him. _They shouldn't be awake, they shouldn't see me like this. What are they going to say? What am I going to say?_ But Laura's voice was gentle, "I'm sorry we woke you, sweethearts. Dad's just not feeling well tonight…" She could practically hear their hearts break as their gazes locked on their father whom they never saw like this before. It hurt her too. But then Lila climbed into her father's lap and wiped his tears with her little stubby fingers before kissing the tear cracks with sincerity no four-year old child could possibly muster. Cooper got on the space beside his sister and wrapped his short arms around his father's neck.

"Mom said kisses and cuddles make everything better." Lila explained in a quiet voice with eyes wide that warmed Clint to the core. Cooper buried his head under Clint's chin, listening to the erratic heartbeat resting there.

And Clint... Clint didn't know how he still deserved this. But Laura was there and she enveloped all of them close to her, like the whole world would fit inside her arms alone. If Laura said that this was right and nothing else mattered, then Clint would believe her. She was always right.

Clint let his walls crumble and didn't feel defenceless at the least. His family was his fortress and nothing could better than this.

Clint was in the middle of sketching a new design for the living room, Cooper and Lila doing the same with crayons and unsurprisingly unicorns and robots, when Natasha appeared by the door. Her hair's a bit dishevelled but her grace didn't diminish by bit when she dragged a pair of super pink and a dark purple bicycle. In an instant, her arms caught an armful of the Barton kids- hawkbabies, she'd like to say. Her ears were assaulted with squeals of her name, "Auntie Nat!"

"I don't know what to bring." The redhead tried to explain, but Laura just laughed and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. Last time, the assassin brought four of what had to be the ugliest sweaters ever made which had Laura baking her favorite cake in return. "Oh, Nat. You're still lovely as ever. I'm sure the kids would love them."

"Yeah, they could use some tan." Clint called, giving her a smile. Natasha seemed to feel better at that. Maybe not at the approval of her gifts (not that the Bartons were particularly materialistic- she just likes to bring them things) but at the look on her best friend's face that wasn't painful to watch anymore. But the abundant hugs and kisses she got as thanks from the hawkbabies totally sealed the deal, too.

Her room was tidy, as if Laura had seen her coming from a mile away. And she stayed there that day, Laura chattering her way as they both watched Clint teach the children how to ride the bicycle. She stayed there for the next six days too, and Laura didn't ignore the way her features were as rigid as Clint's when he first stepped in. Now, she played with the kids and tag-teamed with Laura to banter with Clint. She also brought some Russian recipes for them to try, and vodkas so the three of them could drink until dawn while kids slept.

Clint tried to fix the tractor but found that the thing needed a replacement soon. So he settled on fixing the fence and repainted them. Natasha laughed when the evil chickens refused to be caged one more time, the kids following their Aunt's wonderful example. On quiet moments where the kids miraculously slept early, they talked about what's going to happen next and Clint was reminded of Nick's favor.

"Fury's going to push me into the Initiative." Natasha downed her drink halfway after casually saying the words like one of her heartbreaks. Laura and Clint shared a look that's perfectly in sync.

"You wanna give it a shot?" Clint asked.

"I can work for anybody just fine-"

"Nat, do you want to work with them?" That had been the same question he asked when he offered her a way out. She snorted, "In the long term? You know I can tolerate only you for that long."

"Aw, Nat. You love my sass."

Laura seemed to the only sane one in the room when she pushed the topic back to the tracks, "If you can tolerate Clint, I think you can handle a few eccentric people too."

Natasha waved a hand repeatedly and wrinkled her nose. It's a testament of trust when she promptly burst into a rant about a textbook narcissist, green angry scientist, a patriotic old man, and a Norse god with a hammer being a recipe for disaster Gordon Ramsay would be pulling his hair out in frustration.

".. I mean, these men just reek of testosterone and Alpha pride it's not surprising when they went at each other's throats the first time!" Natasha groaned, "Getting them together again would be like Clint herding chickens... evil chickens… with superpowers." Laura almost choked on her drink, giggling at her husband's indignation. "Can we please forget about what happened?"

"No." The women sang in tune. Clint buried his head in his hands.

The seventh day came too fast for Natasha, but at the look on her face Laura knew she was going to be okay now. "Thank you." The redhead said as Laura gathered her for a tight hug.

"You're always welcome, Tasha." Natasha smiled into the hug before they both released and she faced her partner.

"I'll see you again, Hawkeye."

Clint rolled his eyes, before giving her a hug as well. "Sooner than you think, Widow."

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Clint didn't want to talk about the Initiative, but Laura's insights were always helpful to him. He was Hawkeye, but there were things he was oblivious of that his wife knew. She's super like that. Perhaps that was why he opened up to the subject one night when they were snuggled under the blankets, Clint spooning his beautiful wife. It came as a murmur. "Fury wants me to work on the Initiative."

"Hmm? That's nice. Nat would have somebody she knows on the team."

"No... Not like that." Clint couldn't even fathom himself teaming up with people several leagues ahead of him. Natasha's special. She always was. Not to mention her skillset was valuable and unique unlike his. "I mean, you heard Nat rambling about the Initiative right? Fury wants me to... you know, do something about the recipe for disaster and make it work just in case the next alien invasion comes right at the corner."

Laura answered good-naturedly, "Well, you handled the chickens pretty well." In retaliation, Clint nipped on her earlobe affectionately. Laura's giggle sent pleasant shivers to Clint's spine, and the distraction made it easy for her to shift so she was head level with him. She brought her hands to trace her husband's stubble and said, "If Nick says you're the right person to do this, then I have nothing against it." Otherwise, she'd have thrown Fury out on his ass when he came personally to their apartment years ago. Laura knew, and Clint always reassured that he would ultimately answer to her alone.

"You always had a knack for fixing things. This would be different and a lot harder. But I think it's worth a try." Laura kissed the lines beginning to form on his forehead, and melted the frown into a smile. Clint basked in his wife's reassurance, grateful for all the times Laura radiated confidence for both of them when he's failing at it. Clint returned the kiss and took his time to make sure Laura received every bit of love he could muster in his being.

"Have I told you I love you?"

She deserved no less.

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Note(s): The Bartons are now my fave canon. Welp, next chapter will be dealing with the avengers now. so I better update the tags. See you!


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